


The Sex Thing

by Liquid_Lyrium



Series: Advent [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 31 Days of Ineffables, Bickering, Humor, M/M, Other, References to The Nutcracker, Strange Seduction, The smallest dash of angst, Weird flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21668557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liquid_Lyrium/pseuds/Liquid_Lyrium
Summary: Crowley learns something new about Aziraphale.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Advent [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1561270
Comments: 53
Kudos: 165





	The Sex Thing

“Is this a weird sex thing?”

Crowley’s words were just a shade too loud. Not loud enough to be outright disorderly, but loud enough that several heads in their immediate area swiveled away from the stage and towards them.

 _“Crowley,”_ the angel hissed under breath, thankful no one could see how ruddy his cheeks were in the dark.

The demon smirked and lowered his voice a mere half-decibel. “I’m just asking, because it _seems_ like it’s a weird sex thing.”

 _You hooligan!_ Aziraphale wanted to shout. _We were there at the first performance of The Nutcracker 127 years ago. You cannot possibly be having this brilliant insight of critical analysis for the first time in over a century!_

“Shush,” the angel gestured sharply towards the stage where Drosselmeyer lingered over his appropriately dramatic exit from the stage.

There were a few moments of silence as the music transitioned before Crowley leaned in a hair’s breadth away from the angel’s cheek and Aziraphale sighed preemptively.

He should have known better.

Talking at live performances was one of the ‘inventions’ Crowley was proudest of. A lovely way to quickly build impotent rage and ‘soul-tarnish.’

Despite being closer, Crowley continued at the same volume, “Probably doesn’t help that Dross and Clara up there are shagging in real life, eh?”

 _You love him_ , Aziraphale reminded himself sharply. _You love this idiotic, irritating, ineffable, incomparable, (currently) man-shaped being._

“Read that in a gossip rag, did you?” There was just the faintest hint of defeat beneath the prim disdain of Aziraphale’s tone. _I shouldn’t be encouraging this._

He shivered a bit as Crowley smiled. The split of his lips was so close in the dark Aziraphale could practically feel it ghosting over his skin.

This time Crowley _did_ lower his voice, his next words only for Aziraphale’s ears. “Demon, remember?” The angel shifted uncomfortably. “You should _see_ the web of lust that entangles this whole company. Almost as beautiful as the dancing.” It was like Crowley had strung a hot bead of glass along his spine, letting it slide achingly slow down to his tailbone. Aziraphale tried to fan himself with his program in a casual manner that suggested it was an action unrelated to the being sitting beside him.

Crowley settled back into an approximately upright shape, and admired the stage as several toy soldiers swanned out of the wings to save Clara from the amassing army of the mouse king.

Then his viewing partner spoke again, resuming his previous volume, “But really, _is_ it a weird sex thing?”

Aziraphale breathed sharply out of his nose, and he grit his teeth together at Crowley’s throaty little chuckle. “Crowley, it’s a ballet. Of _course_ it’s a weird sex thing!” He trusted the demon to hear the _extremely_ heavily implied, ‘ _We were there when ballet was first debuted, nevermind the first dance on Earth, you goblin’_ at the end of that sentence.

Aziraphale was no demon, but he could feel the frustration in the immediate area nonetheless.

The demon settled again, quiet just long enough for their neighbors to be lulled into a false sense of security, but not Aziraphale.

The demon leaned in again, voice softer but still just a shade too loud, “Is that why angels don’t dance? Is it because of the sex thing?” The too-recent events of the almost-apocalypse rankled enough that Aziraphale resented being lumped in with his fellows.

 _“I dance!”_ Aziraphale’s cheeks flushed hot and ruddy as the truth thrust defensively past his lips, arcing as sharp as the Nutcracker’s sword.

_“Do you!?”_

The volume and incredulous tone told Aziraphale that this wasn’t part of their game. _Crowley's_ game. (He certainly wasn’t playing it!) Several people shushed them and Crowley shushed them right back, “Shut up, this is important! _When_ were you going to tell me this little secret of yours, that you could dance, angel?

“I wasn't _aware_ that this was some sort of secret,” the paper program gave way to Aziraphale’s impossibly strong hands.

“You bloody well didn't tell me, _ergo_ it's a secret!”

“Not much of a secret,” Aziraphale sniffed dismissively.

“Oh, he sits on the answer to one of the most-asked philosophical questions of all time, and he tells me that it isn’t some kind of secret!”

“I don’t see why this is so important _right now_ , Crowley!” The words were lightning hot. Celestial fire gathered under the angel’s tongue and he swallowed it down.

“All right, tell me-” There was another chorus of hissing and Crowley let out a snake-like noise in response, but he grudgingly lowered his voice. “What sort of racy thing did you learn? The tarantella?”

Aziraphale kept his eyes carefully trained onto the stage, “The gavotte.”

Crowley let out a short, exasperated groan that held a knife-edge’s glimmer of hunger to it, “Ugh. Of course. The bloody gavotte. When? Why didn’t you ask me along?”

“There are things that I _do_ when you are not around, you know!” The length of the argument and the volume it was being held at was starting to edge closer to a row. “I learned when you were—quite indisposed.” _Indisposed_ was the polite turn of phrase they had both agreed to call Crowley's nap that bridged the 19th and 20th centuries. (The timing of which, they also both politely agreed, had nothing to do with The Holy Water Argument of 1862.) He stared at Crowley, trying to control a bevy of emotions his celestial form wasn’t meant to contain in such a small body.

He could just make out Crowley mouth the word _fraternizing_ then, “Angel-”

An irritated voice at Aziraphale’s other elbow piped up, “Can you two stop having a domestic? We're trying to watch the show!”

 _“We're not having a domestic!”_ Aziraphale all but roared, unleashing his irritation on the poor, hapless mortal. The angel snapped peevishly with an upward motion. Then downwards, after he remembered himself, which caused all the mortals in the area to immediately forget that they’d even heard their argument in the first place—and erased one furtive tweetstorm documenting the whole thing.

Aziraphale and Crowley settled back into their respective seats, and uncomfortable sort of silence that hadn’t kept them company for ages wedged itself between them. Third-wheeling in style.

After a long pause, Crowley dared to speak again. Quieter. Almost swallowed by the strings and woodwinds. “Was it a sex thing, angel?”

He could see the ballet perfectly in the demon’s glasses. The stage bright enough to be mirrored in miniature. He heard so many things in that question, in that soft voice. Raw curiosity, apology, longing, jealousy, the self-recrimination for feeling possessive at all.

Aziraphale reached between them in the dark, finding Crowley’s hand and squeezing his fingers affectionately. A reassurance. _No one could replace you, don’t think that for a moment._ Then he moved his hand down to rest on the demon’s bony knee, the bouncing leg going still, and he squeezed again. Then he dragged his fingertips along Crowley’s painted-on inseam, stopping halfway to the mark.

Aziraphale leaned over to breathe right in the other’s ear, breath pooling against the snake sigil, “If you are _very_ quiet and _very_ good for the rest of the show, perhaps you will get the chance to find out.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, bathed in the glow of the stage lights like a reverse halo. There was a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks and his mouth was open in a small, beautiful, wondrous expression that was threatening to morph into a smile. All traces of doubt and regret banished. The barest glimpses of his hungry teeth gleamed more precious than silver. The demon breathed out a laugh and finally gave his head the barest little shake. Crowley muttered a curse under his breath— _Fuck, I need a fucking cigarette after that!_

If Crowley had not irritated him so thoroughly, Aziraphale _might_ have been tempted to give him a good seeing to at intermission.

At least _The Nutcracker_ was mercifully short, as far as ballets went.

**Author's Note:**

> I have been in many a production of The Nutcracker and have done a lot of thinking about it and talked a lot about it over the years so I was HYPED AS FUCK for this one because I IMMEDIATELY KNEW what I wanted to do with it. (Like for real though, it is 100% a weird sex thing, but all ballet p much is.)
> 
> [Tumblr version here.](https://liquidlyrium.tumblr.com/post/189467186335/the-sex-thing)
> 
> Also since folks asked about the deleted tweetstorm and I put one in the comments I'll put it here. I imagine it's something along the lines of:
> 
> me at the ballet: 😴me at the ballet when an old queen and his punk bf start to fight in the row in front of me: 👀  
> These two old dudes either ready to shag or throw hands. not sure which  
> find u a man who is willing to shout about dance being ""a sex thing"" at the ballet  
> y?? are they shouting about angels now wtf?  
> wait nvm old queen=angel  
> omg the drama- punk bf is losing his shit that he didnt know his bf could dance??  
> these dudes are weird. they're talking about folk dances and philosphy i s2g, is this what going to the ballet is like?? are these vampires?? it's 3PM outside!!  
> OH SHIT OH SHIT I GET IT NOW. THEY BROKE UP AND HIS BF WENT OUT CLUBBING N DANCING W/OUT HIM. BRUUUUUH!


End file.
